Hello faithful blood-lovers!
I've been sitting at my boyfriend's computer for four hours now, getting a few sentences down for The Goblet, switching back and forth between looking at other authors' websites, seeing what they've done, and what I can do to make mine better.
As you can see, if you kindly click here, I've updated my Home Page. Added more information on my latest (and only) book out for consumption, and detailed that its to be a full-length novel. Long time readers will know that The Rather Depressing Tales of Patricia Lauren Bordeaux is a love work of mine, and although I've been on Chapter 1 for a very long time (how many years has it been?), I know once my contractual obligations are up to Permuted, I'm going to jump all over it like a Vampire jumping at a-
No, I lost the plot.
Anywho, I'm busy sitting here, staring at my screen, wondering what else I can do, that, for some reason, isn't writing. When that's the one thing I know I should be doing. Funny how that works at times, hm?
Oh, oh, before I forget, allow me to get all gushy on you:
My boyfriend and I recently celebrated our three year-anniversary on Friday. (Feel free to skip the next two paragraphs.) He took me out to NYC and we went to The Slaughtered Lamb Pub in Greenwich Village (Pics are up on my Instagram), it was beautiful and fun to say the least, and just one of the many reasons I love being with him (and would never kill him off in one of my novels).
No, but seriously, he's the greatest guy, and I can't stress how happy I am to be with him, to learn all I have with him. His support for my writing, listening to me go over potential storylines...etc. means the world, and its safe to say my life is more enriched with him in it.
Okay, enough mushy stuff. On to the blood!
I've gotten down about 5,000 words of The Goblet (I know), but I've just started so lay off. :) This is a milestone for me because usually (before I was contracted to Permuted), I take...years? to write that many words at the beginning of a novel. It's a horrible thing of mine, but it seems to be going away. I think its all that 'knowing where the story's going after writing three books already' bug that's been going around. What's that? It hasn't been going around?
Well, darn, looks like I'm just late to the game of stepping up and just writing, but sue me, I'm young. As if that's an excuse.
Case in point, I know my work better now, how I write, my style, what definitely goes in my stories and what simply cannot fit, and it's...nice. To know these things about oneself.
Where was I going with this?
Oh yeah, my main character (some of you may know him as Xavier Delacroix), keeps fucking up, and his fuck ups just allow the other characters to be better contrasted, better illuminated for their own choices. Totally intentional. (Only because I've told you what I've realized, I assure you it wasn't intentional about a minute ago.)
Don't you just hate that? The character who've centered the story around simply does what he desires, and he's a pompous asshole at that.
I already expect the gaggle of girls (and men) bemoaning any screen time he gets on the page. But I take a sick kind of pleasure in writing him.
He's a part of me, as are all my characters. Minute parts that have their quirks, their issues, their mess, and his representation of me, if I'm being honest, is simply that he won't listen, and when he does, when he finally does, it's far too late, madness has already descended, ruining everything and everyone he ever cared about, but he's discovered 'himself,' and blinded by that realization, he moves forward.
All of my characters, whatever their motives, move forward.
Earlier readers of The Dark World: A Delacroix Novel have expressed to me they hate him, and that tickled me because I fully expected him to be the favorite (he was mine at the time), but once I read it over, realized what they were saying was completely true, I knew that was his folly.
He would fall.
And gods, I can't wait to write that fall in The Goblet.
What am I talking about?
I should get to work.
Take care, lovelies.
With blood and love,
It's yours truly,